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I have tried to offer them all advice and counsel at some point. Sometimes they speak to me—mainly Louis and Dimitri, though it is only when they have no choice—but we all prefer to fight our own demons. We were beaten, tortured, and made to believe that any weakness meant pain, and that’s a hard cycle to break.
We return to the elevator, and Dimitri and Jonas get off on the accommodation and training levels. Jonas winks at Nova, who stands by my side. “See you soon, Nova. We can play then.”
“I will shoot you,” she threatens.
“Oh fuck, please do,” he begs with his hand over his heart as the door closes.
“Please ignore him,” I tell her with a friendly smile, trying to put her at ease.
“Trying,” she mutters. “Plus, I’m used to much worse.”
I tilt my head in consideration, using her words to ease into a conversation as the elevator lowers. “Is that so?”
She sees my obvious approach to get her to talk and sighs. “Let me guess—shrink?”
“Doctor.” I shrug. “Habit, sorry.”
She shivers at the worddoctor, and I frown. “I’m not like him,” I state, but there’s a coldness between us, as if she has a basic distrust of the profession. I don’t blame her, especially when all she has ever known from them is pain. I will earn her trust.
This makes it hard to complete my next tasks though. I need to check her out and implant the chip in the lab, where all my supplies are. If I give her any pain in the lab, it might only encourage her fear of doctors, as well as reinforce her anger and distrust of me and the other guys. Knowing I have no other choice, I lead her out once the elevator stops.
This corridor is lined with rooms, and our footsteps are loud on the metal as we turn a corner, the cameras watching her.
“This place gives me the creeps,” she mutters. “Feels too much like my dad—Dr. Davis’s fucking torture labyrinth.”
“The others feel that way too,” I share, giving her a bit of their weakness to gain her trust.
“But not you?”
“I guess I got so used to a clinical setting and living underground that it almost feels like home to me. Up there”—I point above ground—“is where I feel out of control and cornered.”
I see her pondering my words, and I’m glad I could tell her that as we arrive at my lab door. The window to the left shows the interior, and her footsteps falter.
“What is this?” she demands, and I turn to see she has her gun out again. A siren goes off, but I hold my hand up to the cameras, indicating that I have this. The siren stops, but I know they are watching us, and it served as a reminder that she is surrounded and alone with us. I see fear and anger in her eyes, and I know she’s thinking of trying to escape.
“You can leave at any time,” I assure her softly, imploring her to trust us. “You are not trapped, not like before. This is for our safety so they can’t find us.”
“The lab,” she snaps.
“It’s where I work, where the chips are,” I explain quickly. “Without it, you will be unable to walk around freely, and I don’t think you would like that.”
She stares me down, and I wait. It’s her choice. I won’t make it for her. She’s been through enough, we all have, so her distrust isn’t misplaced. It’s built from years of pain and abuse, just like every single one of us. We might be what others consider superhuman—I hate that word, knowing it’s a mix of nature, nurture, and genealogy—but we are still human. We still carry grudges, feel pain, and experience fear, but unlike others, our fear makes us dangerous and deadly.
Nova is no exception. She is a weapon, and right now, that weapon feels cornered.
I step back to give her more room, and the door opens. She stills and looks behind me. I know what she sees. I’ve tried to make it as calm and homey as possible by painting some of the walls, hanging posters and paintings, and dotting the space with sofas, chairs, and plants. Yes, there are computers and equipment, but it’s more like a fancy office than a cold, sterile lab. I see her noting the difference, but it wars with her terror of the places she was hurt in.
“No,” she snaps, stepping back, refusing to enter the lab.
I reach my hand towards her. “We all have to face our fears eventually, Nova,” I murmur. “I used to hate labs too.”
“Then why?” she croaks, true terror in her eyes mixing with the ghosts of her memories—the same ones we all carry.
“Because I refuse to hide from them.” She flinches. “This is just a space. It can’t hurt us. He did, not the equipment. This equipment saves lives. Think of it like a gun,” I reason softly. “The gun isn’t inherently evil. It’s the user that chooses the path it takes.” Stepping back, I wait. “Come in, and I will tell you more.”
When she doesn’t move, I leave her to think it over. I walk through the room, humming, trusting her not to shoot. I’m showing her I’m not afraid. I light some candles and prepare the chip as well as some needles and vials, since we need to do a blood test to ensure she is healthy and thathedid nothing to her. One of the other children was purposely infected with a disease to see if it would change the way her body adapted to training.
I almost shiver in horror at the thought. He was a monster, a true monster. Doctors are meant to heal and protect, not hurt. It goes against everything I believe in.
